


figment for one

by lunacrowne



Series: utopia for six [2]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Imaginary Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, OR IS IT, teen! youngjae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 17:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3618042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacrowne/pseuds/lunacrowne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As you get older, you change and grow out of things, like eventually having to let go of your imaginary friends. Youngjae knows this. Daehyun refuses to accept it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	figment for one

“Not today, Daehyun.”

Youngjae says, not looking up from his homework.

“Jae, you hardly ever visit the house anymore.” Youngjae doesn’t even need to turn around to know Daehyun’s flopping about on the rumpled sheets of his bed, whining. “You hardly ever play with _me_ anymore.”

“I’m in high school, Daehyunnie, not six. I can’t always have that much time anymore,”

"I wish I could go to high school with you...why can't I again?" 

“There’d be too much work for you to handle.”

“You’re not even doing work,” At the accusation, Youngjae looks down at the doodles that have been forming along the margins of math formulas. Daehyun knows him so well, he sighs.

“I’m trying,” Youngjae leans back in his chair, arms splayed at the sides in exasperation.

Daehyun scoots over and peers at the margins. “What’s this? Are you drawing yourself? Jae…bum? Last time I checked you were Youngjae—“

Youngjae swiftly rebounds and covers up the doodles, face flushing red. “Hey, stop being such a nose!”

Daehyun wrestles his paper from him anyway, scrutinizing the lines. “Who’s this Jaebum? And why don’t I know about him yet?”

Youngjae throws himself off the chair in defeat and paces about the room, stopping at the mirror. He frowns at the hint of purple bruising peeking out of one of his sleeves and kneads it slightly. But he notices his shoulders are broadening out, and his baby fat practically diminishing by the day. He’s slowly inching towards Jaebum’s physique, he thinks, and sighs rather dreamily as he reminisces the charming smile of said person he had met last week during orientation.

“He’s a friend,”

Youngjae hasn’t really had many friends besides Daehyun, and their family in the floral house is more…family than friend material, really. He’s always just managed to get by through the school days, never having anyone just outright take interest in him and talk to him like Jaebum did. 

He notices Daehyun behind him. The latter has grown alongside Youngjae, surprisingly, no longer a little boy with the sun kissed skin but a rather toned physique for a young man. He shudders a bit at how, well, handsome the other got. Unlike Youngjae, who has kept his natural hair color and never had the courage to dye his hair, Daehyun appears to have went through many rebellious stages, his originally cream hair undergoing various shades of gray, pink, and finally brown with a blonde streak down the middle. 

Throwing the paper aside, Daehyun pounces on Youngjae, clinging to him like a needy child, though Daehyun is nearly the same size as Youngjae, if not a teensy bit taller. 

“Yah,” Youngjae complains at the weight.

“Jae, I’ll always be your number one friend right?” Daehyun sulks.

“If you’re worried that Jaebum is going to replace you…”

“He won’t?” 

“He won’t.”

Daehyun grins against Youngjae’s ear, clearly pleased by the answer.

“You’ll always be my number one, Jae.”

“Sure, sure. Now let me finish my work before _they_ come home. Then I might have time to visit.”

.

.

.

“I knew you were cool the moment I saw you, Youngjae.” Jaebum tells him afterschool.

He slings an arm around Youngjae and passes him off in front of his six other friends.

“He’s pretty cute too, maybe cuter than our Youngjae,” One named Jackson pipes in, nudging the one with the same name as him.

“To be honest though, I almost thought you were one of those weird kids back in middle school, with imaginary friends or something, judging from the way you always muttered to your sketchbook. But you’re not like that, you’re like us,”

Jaebum slips a bag of joints from his jacket and the others cheer.

“Right?”

.

.

.

“Where are you going?” Daehyun asks, eyes widening at Youngjae packing a duffel bag. "You're not leaving, are you?"

“Jaebum and the guys are hanging out tonight and I’m going,” he says.

Daehyun purses his lips and furrows his brows at his reply.

“Jae, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but I don’t think Jaebum and his friends are good for you,”

Daehyun crosses his arms, placing himself in the space between Youngjae and the duffel.

Youngjae bristles.

“Why can’t I enjoy myself for once? I think I’ve been through enough to do that,”

“You’re not enjoying yourself; you’re just doing whatever it is your doing to please Jaebum, and it’s not a good influence on you. This stuff you’re doing reeks.” Daehyun huffs and scrunches his nose at the smell of weed on Youngjae’s clothes. 

“You don’t know what I want,” 

“I’m sure I do, the Youngjae I know wouldn’t call these his _real_ friends,”

“Real?”

Jaebum’s previous words echo in Youngjae’s mind and he snaps, words full of spite.

“Everyone at school has gotten over things like their imaginary friends, except me! I’m…I’m done being a stupid little kid stuck in his own head!” He pushes Daehyun aside and continues to shove articles of clothing into his duffel. “ Eventually I’ll get over you and you’ll disappear,”

“Jae, how can you say that? I thought we were friends—“

Youngjae turns around at the other’s touch and lashes out at Daehyun. “You don’t even exist, Daehyun! You’re just a figment of my imagination!”

Daehyun visibly reels; face a mixture of livid anger and hurt. “What are you saying? Are you really going to throw me away? Yonggukkie-appa and Himchannie-omma? Junghongie and Jonguppie? Are you going to throw them away too?”

“You’re all not real, and I need to grow up.”

“Youngjae—“

“Go away! I don’t want to see your face ever again!”

Youngjae huddles in the corner of his bed with his face in his hands, and when he finally looks up he just sees his room and hears nothing but his own breathing.

He pinches himself and winces at the pain, still hearing nothing. 

He sighs in weary relief and finishes packing his things in the duffel. Looking at the sketchpad on his desk, he reaches out a hand to fist the pages with malicious intent, but ultimately lacks the strength to crumple them up. He leaves it on the table, and slings the bag over his shoulder before climbing out his window.

.

.

.

Youngjae feels somewhat content. He alternates between staying at his friend’s places, between Mark and Jinyoung’s houses, and eventually Jaebum’s when things got tough at home.

Youngjae absorbs the callous laughter of everyone, despite it only coming from highs and what he thinks are bad decisions.

  


He even lets Jaebum kiss him one day under the pretense of smoke in his lungs and alcohol in his breath.

“You don’t need your parents, you should ditch them and come stay with me, I’ll treat you right,” 

Jaebum slurs with an unreadable look in his smiling eyes and Youngjae pushes back the thought of someone else with a similar look in their eyes when they smiled, thinking instead maybe he finally belongs somewhere.

Even when that somewhere involved Jaebum’s temper getting the best of him sometimes.

.

.

.

Youngjae is quietly nursing the bruise underneath his shirt as he packs up his school bag, ruminating if he should just go straight back to Jaebum’s house when a girl’s soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts. 

“Whoa, you’re friend there looks really angry,”

Youngjae looks up to see Song Jieun leaning against a nearby desk, facing him. Song Jieun was in his class. She was a pretty girl and all, with doe-like eyes and long, feminine black hair framing a delicate face, but no one dared talk to her because she kept extremely quiet and rumors went around she talked to walls. People had eventually just started calling her “Clairevoyant Jieun”, passing her off as the weird chick. Youngjae never talked to her either, since Jaebum always managed to divert his attention.

“Friend?” There was no one else in the empty classroom.

“Y’know, tanned boy looking around your age, brown hair with a blonde streak, some big ass lips—” 

Jieun cocks her head like someone listening to another person whisper into their ear. “Is that so, Sunhwa.”

“Daehyun, ring a bell?” she asks.

Youngjae feels chills all of a sudden but anger quickly replaces the feeling.

“The fuck? Are you high right now or something?”

Jieun remains unphased at his rising temper, instead looking sadly at Youngjae. “You know, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. I have Hyosung unnie, Hana, and Sunhwa who understand me best. Just because others can’t see your friends doesn’t mean they don’t exist, you know. Who gives a shit what people say?”

Something stirs in Youngjae’s chest and he is fighting off the images of bright crayon fragments and warm smiles.

“Fuck off weirdo, you don’t know a thing.” 

Youngjae thinks he can see a group of gorgeous girls surrounding Jieun and a flash of tanned skin from his peripheral vision but he storms out of the classroom clutching his bag tightly and when he finally makes it outside the building he lets himself cry.

.

.

. 

Jaebum’s kisses are especially aggressive today; a little too bruising for Youngjae’s liking, but it’s been a while since Jaebum has shown him any sober affection outside of weed so he closes his eyes and lets him take the lead.

“Jaebum, mmf—wait—”

Youngjae’s eyes widen though when he feels harsh tugging at his pants, and a lone finger snaking down his boxers and flush against his backside.

“You’ve kept me waiting for the longest time, Youngjae, I can’t wait anymore!”

Jaebum is now aggressively tugging his pants down before Youngjae can protest.

“No, Jaebum, please, I don’t want this yet—“

A hard slap sears Youngjae’s cheek and he cups it in shock. 

“Jae, oh god I’m so sorry—”

The pulsing sting makes Youngjae look up into Jaebum’s eyes, but for some reason in those eyes he no longer sees Jaebum, only a dullness where there should’ve been a twinkle. Maybe the twinkle he remembers from orientation had left in those eyes a long time ago.

“No, fuck off. We’re done.” He clutches at his pants and stalks off as fast as he can towards the door. Before he gets there, however, he feels Jaebum grasp him by the collar and pin him against the wood.

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?!” Youngjae can see Jaebum’s temper flaring. He writhes in his suffocating grip and he yells, earning him another punch to the face, upside his head.

Teeth bite against his neck and there’s hands yet again at Youngjae’s pants, pulling them off along with his boxers, and Youngjae feels disoriented and scared. He still struggles, kicking out naked legs when Jaebum’s fist comes up again.

  


Youngjae closes his eyes, bracing himself for the impact but it never comes.

He feels the grip on his neck loosen and he opens his eyes to see Daehyun, clutching a broken bottle in his hand and face distorted in rage, Jaebum’s figure laying crumpled at his feet.

“D-Daehyun?” Youngjae sputters, not believing the image before him.

“Oh g-god, is he…?”

Daehyun doesn’t say a word, just gently pulls Youngjae’s boxers and pants up over his hips, and takes Youngjae’s hand, leading him outside.

“Daehyun?”

Daehyun doesn’t answer, leading Youngjae down the path through the park, and he notices he’s in front of his own house. He couldn’t be here, but then again where could he go?

“C’mon, let’s go through the window.”

When Youngjae follows Daehyun up the side of the house and into his bedroom, his head is pounding and he collapses into Daehyun’s chest.

  


“Youngjae, I-I’m so glad you’re safe…”

Daehyun’s tone softens and he hugs Youngjae tightly, shaking. There’s a wetness pooling on Youngjae’s nose and he looks up to see tears flowing from the other’s dewy eyes.

Youngjae cannot believe how warm and real Daehyun's tears are, he has never felt them before.

“But how, Dae?” _You’re not real._

“I’m only as real as you want me to be,”

Youngjae nuzzles into the warmth emanating from Daehyun, breathing out shallowly an apology.

“I’m sorry, Daehyunnie. I’m sorry for being so stupid.”

Daehyun kisses Youngjae’s cheek, cupping it gently.

“It doesn't matter. I love you, Youngjae. Always.” He presses his lips chastely against Youngjae’s, and Youngjae clings on tighter.

  


There’s a pounding on the door, and the sound of Youngjae’s dad screaming.

“You motherfucking gay, how dare you come back to this house?! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“He knows I’m back,” Youngjae reluctantly breaks off the kiss, the scent of sugar cookies and warm sunlight lingering on his lips.

He feels lightheaded and weak, sleepy in Daehyun’s embrace, and despite the pounding he struggles to not drift off.

“Jae---let’s get out of here, Jae.”

Daehyun looks intensely into Youngjae’s fluttering eyes with resolve.

“Jae, there’s nothing in this world for you, there never has been. Come with me, let’s get out of here.”

“Where can we go? I’m tired, Dae, I don’t want to run anymore.”

“It’s not far. It’s always been close-by,” Daehyun gestures to the dusty sketchpad he pulls out from under Youngjae’s bed. 

Youngjae takes Daehyun’s hand, and he can see white clouds and a rocketship of shimmering metal implanted into the ground beside a flower-wreathed house.

  


He looks down to take in green grass and notices bruises on his arms are gone. He feels around his cheek and there’s also no pain there.

Daehyun ushers him forward and he sees four figures in front of him, not having aged a day since he last saw them. Yongguk-appa and Himchan-omma stand side by side, leaning against each other and Junhong and Jongup look up at him expectantly with curious eyes.

“Youngjae, stay with us here,” Yongguk says first, smiling gently at Youngjae.

“How could I? I couldn’t possibly,”

“We’re all family here, Youngjae. You’re a part of it.” Himchan pats the apron around his waist and encircles an armful of the toddlers.

“We want hyung to stay with us!” Junhong and Jongup pipe up simultaneously, noses with a hint of red.

“We can all be happy here, build our very own universe if you want to,” Daehyun says, hands outstretched and jean jacket billowing in the breeze. “Stay with us, Youngjae.”

He takes both of Youngjae’s hands in his. “Stay with _me_ , Youngjae. We can be happy forever,”

Youngjae thinks about the pain he has endured and the hostility of the world that had left him shattered on the floor and refused to pick up the pieces. He thinks briefly of Jieun’s words in the empty classroom, and he pushes back the faint sounds of wood splintering and yells and sirens chiming through his ears.

  


He nods.

  


He feels not only Daehyun’s arms around him but two other pairs encircling him, and the feeling of a couple small arms wrap around his legs. He laughs heartily at the warmth and everyone leads him towards the house, chattering excitedly with talks of a trip on the rocketship.

.

.

.

  


“…More arrests were made last Saturday following the investigation of high school student Im Jaebum’s death. Neighbors reported hearing a heated dispute late in the night presumable between Im and his then boyfriend Yoo Youngjae. New evidence suggests Yoo suffered physical abuse from Im the night of Im’s death, and is believed to have demonstrated self -defense by using a broken bottle, the source of the head trauma that led to Im’s death. Yoo was discovered a distance away in his own home, himself having suffered severe head trauma that now leaves him in a coma. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Yoo’s residence suggests intensive child abuse of the young man. Yoo’s parents have pleaded guilty in response to public outcry…”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this trainwreck of a fic that I really wrote on a burst of inspiration for myself. It ended up not being that dark fairytale I wanted it to be. (But if you're curious I wrote an essay on the film _Pan's Labyrinth_ for a semiotics course and got this burning need to write this orz. )  
>  The ending is up to interpretation, what do you think?
> 
> Now I think I need some rehab fluff fics to ease my angsty sad writing phase. ;; Nonbeta'd fivever


End file.
